


Circle Jerk

by Sinful Words (MontanaHarper)



Series: DIY [3]
Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Drunk Sex, Exhibitionism, M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-01-05
Updated: 2004-01-05
Packaged: 2017-10-11 20:41:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/116879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MontanaHarper/pseuds/Sinful%20Words
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Orlando has a brilliant idea. Elijah's not so sure it's brilliant. Viggo's just along for the ride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Circle Jerk

Elijah's not sure what possessed him—except that it might just have had something to do with the five or six bottles of Guinness he's drunk over the course of the evening—but the gesture has obviously been noticed by Orli and Viggo and there's not a fucking thing he can do about it now except to blush, which he seems to be doing with alarming regularity around Orli lately. So he takes another drink of his Guinness and tries pretending that it's no big deal, that he was just shifting and adjusting in a typically "guy" fashion. One hundred percent masculine over here, guys, he thinks, forcing back the giggle that threatens to erupt.

And just when he thinks he might have gotten away with it, Orli smiles at him and he has to use every trick he's learned over the course of his career to fight back another telltale blush as he remembers how Orli looks when he comes. Because he's not supposed to _know_ how Orli looks when he comes, just like he wasn't supposed to stand in the doorway of Orli's bedroom yesterday morning, and he wasn't supposed to watch as Orli jerked off in what he had every right to expect was privacy.

Elijah isn't _supposed_ to be a fucking perv, either. Which really doesn't change the fact that he is one, and while he feels guilty about taking advantage of Orli, he can't seem to make himself regret his actions.

He decides it's really time to take a leak, but he feels Orli's gaze on his back all the way to the bathroom door and he knows he's not going to be able to piss with the fucking hard-on he's got after that. He closes the door anyway and uses the time to pull himself together. He's just glad the other guys went home already, even Dom and Billy having enough sense to call it a night in the face of early-morning feet. Viggo has a pretty easy time of it in make-up, and even Orli gets to sit and doze through the application of his prosthetics, but Elijah can look forward to about two hours of standing, exhausted and hung over, the other Hobbits mocking him for his stupidity.

He leaves the bathroom having decided to make his excuses and head home, but he's brought up short by the expression on Orli's face. It's what he thinks of as Orli's Cheshire-cat grin, and it usually spells trouble—for Elijah at least.

"Elijah. Y'know what?" Orli says, carefully enunciating each word the way he does when he's very, very drunk. "Viggo here says he's never done a wank in the round. A circle jerk," he clarifies, complete with an expressively lewd hand gesture, apparently worried that Elijah won't get the reference.

This time there's nothing Elijah can do to stop the blush, so he shifts his attention to Viggo instead, curious to see how the other man is taking Orli's pronouncement. Viggo's smiling a small, amused smile—the kind that says he's sharing the joke with you, and isn't the drunk guy funny—so Elijah smiles too, but there's a sick feeling crawling around in his gut and it doesn't take long for him to recognize it as jealousy. Orli's an affectionate drunk to begin with, and tonight he's far enough gone that he's finally making the long-anticipated pass at Viggo. Desperately ignoring the odd surge of possessiveness, Elijah tries to distract himself by wondering who'll win the pool. Orli's been far more patient and circumspect than Elijah had imagined he would be and so his own guess is a good month in the past.

"I'm taking off, Orli. You two have fun, okay?" he says, moving with determination toward the front door, scanning the floor for his flip-flops and patting down his pockets to locate his car keys, even though he knows he probably should call a taxi or something because he's _way_ too drunk to be in charge of a thousand pounds of steel moving at 80 kph.

"What?" Orli says, a puzzled frown taking over form the cheerfully inebriated expression he'd been wearing before. "No, no. You _can't_ go, 'lij. Can't have a circle jerk with just two blokes—that's just a couple of mates wanking. Not the same thing at all."

The thought makes Elijah's stomach do somersaults, and he wonders if this is another one of those cultural gaps he keeps stumbling across when it comes to the Brits. Is it actually common in England for friends to jerk off together? Because he doesn't remember that from any of the travel guides he's read, and Dom has never mentioned it—and he and Dom have talked far more in-depth about sex than any two theoretically heterosexual guys probably should. But Dom isn't British by birth, is he? Maybe Dom's missed this part of the culture, too. And then there's Sir Ian, who is definitely an argument for a cultural tradition of homosexuality. On the other hand, Sean Bean is about as straight and macho as you can get without actually being Bruce Willis—which is kind of a pity since he's also pretty hot and Elijah can't believe his thoughts are getting this out of hand. It's beyond being able to blame it on the alcohol at this point and both Orli and Viggo are looking at him now. What did he say, or maybe what didn't he say, that they're staring so intently? Fuck.

He knows he should have gone home when Billy and Dom did, knew it even at the time, but he was enjoying spending time with Orli and now he's all confused because Orli doesn't seem to want him to leave. That doesn't make any sense, though, because everyone knows Orli has been working up the nerve—or doing whatever it is Orli does when he exhibits a rare moment of patience—to sweep Viggo off his feet and onto the nearest horizontal surface that's not in front of a camera lens.

Except now Orli is looking at _him_ expectantly, with his trademark eager-puppy expression and how the fuck can Elijah say no to that? He refuses to think about the fact that he really doesn't want to say no, or about the fact that he's seriously considering agreeing to jerk off in front of Viggo, a man twice his age who's seen and done more in his lifetime than maybe Elijah can even imagine and Elijah's got a pretty good imagination, but he's refusing to think about that, too.

And there doesn't really seem to be another option, so he shrugs and says, "How could I turn down the chance to take part in such a classy cultural exchange? Wank in the round, huh?"

And then Viggo is chuckling and it's okay, the tension broken and everyone comfortable, once again, in their own skin.

Except that Elijah is still painfully aware of the presence of the other two men, even as he drops to sit cross-legged on the floor across from where Orli and Viggo are lounging at opposite ends of the low couch.

And to cover for his own awkwardness, Elijah falls back on a time-honored defense mechanism: humor. He says, "So, oh great and powerful jerk-off guru, what do we do now?" which draws a snort of laughter from Viggo, but a serious look from Orli, and that's not at all what he wants because serious is dangerous.

Then Orli leans back and starts to unbutton and unzip the front of his cargoes and it gets even more dangerous, because that brown-eyed gaze is locked on Elijah and he thinks that much intensity all at once might make him short-circuit or blow a fuse or some other strange electrical metaphor that's inexplicably gotten lodged in his brain.

Because that's got to be electricity he feels running through him, sending tingling bursts to his fingertips and cock, and he reaches for the nearly full bottle of Guinness—his sixth? seventh?—that he'd left on an end table, taking several long swallows as he tries to surreptitiously watch Orli, and watch Viggo's responses, and seem like he's legitimately occupied so he can't be undoing his jeans quite yet, but he's going to any minute now, really.

And Orli's attention is starting to be too much, so Elijah looks to Viggo—which, it turns out, is a mistake because Viggo's jeans are open and he's tracing the bulge of his cock through the dark green fabric of his briefs, and it's not like Elijah's never seen other guys' cocks before, but somehow those fleeting glimpses in the locker room or mens' room aren't even in the same league as this. Because this is sexy and because Elijah watched Orli jerk off before, and got off on the sight himself, a fact that he can't quite make himself feel bad about because it was such a mind-blowing experience, and one he desperately wants to relive.

Which probably explains why he's still here, despite the surreal nature of recent events. The fucking perv factor.

At least Viggo isn't watching him, because he's not sure he could handle someone—even as close and intimate a friend as Viggo or Orli—watching him come. Somehow it's okay when he's with a girlfriend, though thinking about it, he's never jerked off for any of them, either.

It's unsurprising that Orli should be the one to get Elijah to travel in uncharted territory; he manages that a lot, seemingly without even really trying.

"Elijah."

The soft sound of his name coming from Viggo snaps his attention back to the here-and-now, back to Orli's living room, where the three of them are apparently going to act out a scene from a bad gay porno and what the fuck was Elijah doing here again?

But when he looks up, he sees that Viggo's stopped touching himself and is watching Elijah with a concerned expression. And part of Elijah knows he'll always regret it if he screws this up, so he summons a slightly drunk grin and says, "Sorry, I was a thousand miles away."

"Would you rather be somewhere else?" Viggo asks, and Elijah thinks that kind of solicitousness and concern must be something you learn when you're a parent, because Sean is the same way, sometimes treating Elijah like he's Ally. And if there's anyone Elijah _doesn't_ want to be thinking about right now it's Sean, who would probably be directing the action so that they all got off at the same time, or making sure everyone had tissues for clean-up or...and Elijah is _so_ not thinking about that. He forces himself back into the moment.

"Nah. Here is good." He pauses, but some unnamed urge makes him add, truthfully, "Here is really good."

And since he's sure that Viggo's not going to be satisfied with just reassuring words, he puts the Guinness back down—after a quick swallow to brace himself—and relaxes over onto his left elbow, straightening his legs out to the right so that he's lying on his side facing the couch, the bulge in the front of his jeans easily visible.

He hears a small sound come from the vicinity of Orli, but he doesn't look over there, doesn't want to know what Orli is doing or looking at, so he props his head on his left hand and slides the right down across the hardness of his cock, grinding against it while trying to maintain eye contact with Viggo. "See," his body is saying, "I want this. I'm not afraid."

He's hoping Viggo buys it, hoping that he doesn't think about the fact that Elijah's an actor, someone whose body can lie with as much ease and feigned sincerity as his mouth.

Because Elijah is terrified.

Terrified of making eye contact with Orli, terrified of his body's responses to that thing Viggo is doing to his cock with his fingertips, terrified of letting them see how much the idea of watching them jerk off—fuck it, the idea of _them_ watching _him_ jerk off—turns him on.

But the knot in his gut isn't enough to override the other things he's feeling, the things that are making his cock hard and leaking and making him fight against himself to keep from looking over at Orli, keep from watching the sure movement of hand on cock that Elijah remembers too well. Keep from losing himself in those brown eyes.

Part of Elijah wants to be lost.

But the rest of him isn't quite convinced yet, so he tries to keep his gaze mainly on Viggo, catching glimpses of Orli out of the corner of his eye: a shift of his hips, a flash of swollen cockhead disappearing behind long fingers.

And then Elijah's jeans are unbuttoned and his hand is wrapped around his cock and he's not quite sure how that happened, because his attention was (mostly) on Viggo, whose hips are arching up as his sure, muscular hands slide layers of fabric down until Viggo's jeans and briefs are around his thighs and his cock is jutting up against his belly, and Elijah is surprised to see that Viggo is uncut.

And suddenly Elijah realizes that he's surprised by a hell of a lot more than just that. He's surprised that Viggo's even here, playing along with Orli's bizarre idea. He's surprised that Orli's been so quiet, so still except for the rhythmic movement of hand on cock. Mostly, though, he's surprised that he's lounging on Orli's living-room rug, jerking off while two of his friends watch and do the same.

Elijah wonders if he's dreaming, or if he's maybe gone insane, pushed over the edge by too much work, too little sleep, and the strange, backward seasons of the southern hemisphere. And he clings to that idea, to the thought that it's simply some peculiar side effect of being in New Zealand, where the night sky is all wrong, and it snows in June, and sometimes Elijah wonders if they're even still on Earth, because some bits of it are just too beautiful to be real, too beautiful to be part of the mundane world he grew up in.

Beautiful like Orli and, right now, like Viggo, too.

Elijah wonders whether they'd show up on a map of New Zealand—carefully inked in someone's painstaking Quenyan calligraphy, right next to the legend: Here There Be Dragons.

"C'mon, man," Orli's voice breaks into Elijah's thoughts. "You're not getting into it. You're, like, off in Middle Earth or something." And then Orli laughs, the joke obviously funnier if you're totally shit-faced.

Except Elijah's pretty sure he's totally shit-faced, too, and it's not that funny to him, but maybe that's just because it's hard to laugh when your stomach is full of butterflies. But he manages to summon a giggle anyway and gives in to the temptation to watch—really watch—Orli and Viggo, even though that's what he wants to do. And he knows that thought makes no sense, that he shouldn't mind watching if that's what he wants, but somehow the thought is as logical as it is nonsensical, even if it doesn't mesh with any kind of logic he can think of.

It seems like Orli's going to keep talking, now that he's broken the silence, because words are spilling from his lips and Elijah could swear they're in some foreign language—Quenya, he wonders, or Sindarin?—except that he's understanding them and so they must be English.

And occasionally Viggo contributes to the stream, the river of words, his soft, American-accented voice providing a perfect counterpoint to Orli's rich London-flavored speech. Elijah finds himself swept away on that torrent of words, collapsing onto his back as though bowled over by a tangible wave, but it's okay because everything is just washing over him without threatening to drown him, and he tilts his head enough to look over at Orli.

Who is—still? again?—watching him.

And suddenly Elijah gets the feeling that it's not such a bad thing to be the focus of Orli's attention, the center of his world. Because something about the look in those dark eyes starts off the fire in Elijah's belly and there's no awkwardness now to the needy motion of Elijah's hand on his cock, no embarrassment when he hears the breathy moan escape from his throat.

There's nothing but rightness and want and the soft rasp of shifting clothes, and Elijah watches Orli's hand, watches the almost-liquid slide of foreskin that's so different, so strange. And he wonders how Orli's cock would feel in his mouth, and whether Orli would moan if Elijah slipped his tongue in between the foreskin and the slick, smooth head. Unthinking, he licks his lips and hears simultaneous noises from both ends of the couch, noises that send more of that electricity zapping through him, and he chances a look at Viggo, who's watching him nearly as intently as Orli had been and if Elijah wasn't feeling quite so good he thinks he'd be uncomfortable with the attention.

And Viggo must see something in Elijah's expression, because he deliberately turns his gaze on Orli, shifting slightly on the couch to make their odd triangle into something a little more like the circle Orli had proposed. Then Orli shifts too, and it's like a circuit is completed, the current flowing in an endless loop of want and need and look-but-don't-touch, and it's dragging Elijah down like a particularly vicious undertow, except that's an entirely different kind of current.

And Elijah is getting lost again, awash in a sea of desire and sensation and confused metaphor, with Orli and Viggo his only anchors. But it really doesn't matter anymore whether Elijah is lost or anchored, overwhelmed or left wanting. All that matters is that he's here, now, and _carpe diem_ , because he'd rather regret things he did than things he chickened out of.

And what he really wants to do is get closer to Orli and Viggo, to move within touching distance, even if he never decides to take the next (terrifying) step of actually reaching out.

So he rolls smoothly to his side and then—slightly less smoothly as the world sways around him for a second—to his hands and knees, where he suddenly realizes the little logistical problems involved in getting from here to the couch with his jeans open and threatening to slide off his hips.

And then Elijah's giggling so hard he almost collapses back to the floor because the situation is just so bizarre and who the fuck does this actually happen to? He half wonders if he's become a fictional character, manipulated at an authorial whim, except that he can't really think why, if he were fictional, his life would be taking a sudden left turn _now_.

And he's been giggling for too long, because Viggo is looking at him, concern written in every line of his face, and even Orli has stopped moving and is looking—panicked?—at him. He tries to rein in the laughter long enough to reassure them, shaking his head and putting one hand out to hold them off until he can catch his breath.

"I'm fine. Really," he manages finally. "A little wasted maybe, but good." And then he's moving toward the couch—ignoring the fact that he feels like the world's biggest dork, crawling on hands and knees while periodically hitching his jeans up before they can mutiny—until his knee comes up against something hard and he looks down to see Anduril lying on the floor at Viggo's feet, and that threatens to send him off into another fit of giggling.

Instead, he takes a deep breath and reaches down to the hem of his t-shirt, tugging it up over his head and tossing it to the side where it will be safe from the fate suffered by his last t-shirt. And now he doesn't have to worry about stifling laughter, but rather a moan that comes out of nowhere as he remembers the sight of Orli, licking his fingers clean.

It's the moan, more than anything—even the voluntary removal of his clothing—that seems to set Orli at ease again, and Elijah sits back on his heels and takes a moment to just watch Orli's forearm, watch the play of muscle sliding under skin as Orli shifts his grip and strokes himself more firmly.

"C'mon 'lij," Orli says softly, eyes falling closed. "It'll be fun. Like bungee jumping, right?"

And Elijah finds it strangely endearing that Orli's still trying to convince him, even though Elijah's here, he's _really_ here, with hand on cock and shirt off and watching with something like hunger. So he says, "Better than bungee jumping. No chance of dying with this."

And it's Viggo who answers him, his voice breathier than usual, "Only a little death."

And yeah, that's maybe what Elijah is looking for right now: a little death. A little excitement while safe in the company of his friends. And he _is_ safe here, with these two, and that makes it really easy to reach out with his right hand and trace his fingertips up the length of Viggo's thigh. Because his friends wouldn't let him get hurt, at least no more so than he wants to get hurt, no worse than a little death or two, and the gasp and groan from Viggo make Elijah glad he's taken the risk, glad he's going for action over inaction.

So he leaves his hand cupped firm against Viggo's inner thigh—feeling the shockwaves traveling from Viggo's hand to cock to thigh to Elijah's hand—and he reaches his other hand out to Orli, fingertips tracing the lines of Orli's forearm, feeling the shifting planes and angles of working muscles, and he wonders if Orli's movements would be so steady, so confident if it were Elijah's cock instead of his own that he was coaxing toward release.

To Elijah's surprise Orli doesn't stop at the unexpected touch, doesn't open his eyes, doesn't react at all—at least until Elijah's fingers reach Orli's and Elijah twines them together so that he's helping Orli jerk off, and he barely has time to register the feeling of Orli's cock, like warm silk slipping under his fingers, because—

"Fuck. Fuck...oh...'lij. _Fuck!_ "

And then Orli's coming, body arching up off the couch and into Elijah's hand and it's so sexy and so powerful to know that it was his touch that pushed Orli over the edge, and he can feel Viggo tensing and Elijah's own cock is throbbing in time to his (racing) heartbeat but he doesn't want to let go of either of them in order to touch himself, so he just bites his lip and turns to watch Viggo come, too.

Which, in a way, is even better than watching Orli, because Viggo's always so soft-spoken, so restrained, and seeing him with his head thrown back, mouth open in a wordless groan of pleasure is just...fucking amazing. Somehow Elijah thinks he's never going to look at Aragorn the same again.

And then Orli's stretching, drawing their entwined hands toward his mouth until his tongue is tracing patterns on Elijah's fingers and Elijah can't think anymore, can't do anything but try to remember to breathe, and at some point Viggo gives him his other hand back, but he's not sure when or how or why, though he does know that if he touches himself right now he's going to come and then Orli will stop doing those things to his hand and so he doesn't.

But Orli stops anyway, and grins at him. "Your turn, I think," he says, gesturing toward Elijah's still-raging hard-on, moving as though to wrap his hand around it, and Elijah can feel his eyes go wide at the thought of Orli touching him but he stays still—not exactly an invitation, but not rejection, either—and hopes Orli understands.

Orli understands.

The first touch isn't at all tentative, but it is slow and gentle, like Orli's giving Elijah a chance to get used to it, maybe to stop him if Elijah wants, but after less than a second Elijah can't think of anything he'd rather do than let Orli touch him. And then there's a presence behind him—Viggo, kneeling on the floor at his back, thighs spread on either side of Elijah's so that Elijah's nearly in his lap—and he's still working on that _carpe diem_ thing, so he barely hesitates before he leans back into Viggo's chest, tilting his head back onto Viggo's shoulder. Strong arms wrap around him and there's the bizarrely incongruous sensation of soft lips and scratchy beard against his neck before Viggo sinks his teeth into the same spot he's just kissed—exactly hard enough—and Elijah shudders at the line of fire that's suddenly connecting his neck and his balls, and then he comes, strong and fast and really fucking glad Viggo's there to hold him up. Because as soon as it's over, as soon as every single muscle in his body is no longer bowstring-taut, he's limp and boneless and wants nothing more than to melt into the floor.

It's only Orli's voice that pulls him back from the edge of unconsciousness. "Oh, yeah. I knew it would be even better close up."

For a second, Elijah doesn't quite parse the words, and once he does it takes him another second to figure out what Orli must mean. Orli's watched him come before, but from a distance. And Elijah starts to get angry, offended, before he realizes that he's really got no room for self-righteous outrage, considering what he did yesterday morning, but something of his reaction must've shown in his face, because Orli's closed his eyes and is muttering something that sounds suspiciously like "shit" over and over.

And it's nice that Viggo hasn't moved, because Elijah's going to have to confess to Orli and he thinks it's probably going to be easier with someone there to make sure Orli doesn't kill him, except that it means he has to confess _in front of_ Viggo, which is more than a little fucking humiliating. But what the hell, because it's a humiliation he earned; it's his own fucking fault he didn't turn around and walk back out of Orli's bedroom, that he stayed and jerked off like a total perv.

"I'm sorry," he starts, pressing a fingertip against Orli's lips when Orli tries to interrupt. "No. I'm sorry, Orli. Because I walked in on you yesterday morning, when you were...." and he wishes he had a fucking script, because this is harder than he thought it would be and it'd be so much easier if he could just parrot someone else's words.

"I know."

And that just shakes his world, down to the foundation, because if Orli knew he was there, then Orli probably knew what Elijah had done, and Elijah's not quite sure how to take that, how to react to the fact that Orli hasn't said anything about it all day. Until—realization like a sucker punch to the gut—until Orli suggested the circle jerk, which must mean something but Elijah's not sure whether it's something good, like want and need and desire to match his own, or something not so good, like curiosity or even just an opportunity to get back at Elijah for invading Orli's privacy.

Then Orli's fingers are tracing lightly down Elijah's cheek and he's pretty sure he's wearing the same silly grin that's just spread across Orli's face, and Orli says, "I haven't been able to think of anything else all day."

And Elijah feels Viggo shift behind him, the solid support drawing away as Viggo, Anduril in hand, stands. "Time for me to go."

And it's okay, because Elijah thinks that he and Orli can work the rest of this out themselves.


End file.
